


Until they met again

by itsalwayssunnyintaubate



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Blood Drinking, Chases, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, PWP, Public Sex, Rimming, Sexual Tension, Smut, Teasing, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 08:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyintaubate/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyintaubate
Summary: Jonathan has wondered for a while what it would be like when they met again. Chasing Geoffrey McCullum through London trying to get over his own lust-fueled brain is something he could not have predicted, however. Geoffrey does not seem to object, though, seeing as he is very intent on getting Jonathan out of his clothes.(this is basically 4.5k of Jonathan and Geoffrey running around trying to fuck each other. you're welcome)





	Until they met again

**Author's Note:**

> So, as usual, English is not my mother language and this is part of my NaNoWriMo project, so it hasn't been revised to the best of my efforts, but it will be updated when I get around to doing it (since this might take a while, though, I decided to post it at once)  
> let me know if you find anything too bizarre out there, yes?

Jonathan Emmet Reid bears his grief and guilt like a cross after he returns to London. Having no one in his life, nothing to live for and cursed by immortality, he feeds on humans and vampires alike with little to no discrimination. He does not go actively looking for prey, you see. They just seem to find him and if the types he feeds on are usually ones not to be missed — horrible, _horrible_ people — that is just a fortunate coincidence.

He takes down Seymour Fishburn and Cadogan Bates, you see, but it is only when he relieves Aloysius Dawson, his own Progeny, of his head that the Priwen Guard catches up to him. By the time Geoffrey McCullum finds him, Jonathan is more beast than man, nerves frayed raw by the severance of his bond to his Progeny.

He never really wanted to make Dawson in the first place. He just didn’t think he had a choice. Killing him still leaves a deep, thrumming weight inside his chest, though. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the conflicting emotions that try to take over.

It is fitting that it’s McCullum, also his Progeny, that finds him.

Dawson’s lifeless body lies on the finely carpeted floor of his mansion as Jonathan looks the hunter over. He wonders if, since their meeting at the cemetery a few moons back, McCullum’s men have found him out. They might not be very obviously supernatural, Ekons, but the guards are trained to spot them. McCullum might be good, but he can’t be _that_ good.

“I just killed one of mine today, McCullum!” Jonathan roars at the hunter. He does not make for a nice picture, Dawson’s blood still wet on his shirt, on his claws. “Don’t make me put you down as well.”

Across the room, McCullum unsheathes his sword. But he does not come lashing in.

“You barely stood a chance when I was human, leech. Do you _really_ expect to fight me and live to tell the tale?” The younger Ekon provokes, a sneer twisting his lips. He is not the same man, Jonathan comprehends with a shock. Not anymore. The danger that surrounds him is now of a quiet and wild type. “No Arthur’s blood, today. Hell, I’ll even put my weapons aside so you can feel the sheer power of what you created, _daddy_.”

Jonathan snorts bitterly, but, in a world to which he no longer has any connection, having his Progeny right in front of him feels good in a very distinct way. He wonders, absentmindedly, if it has to do with the hunter being who he is more than with the bond they share. Jonathan has certainly never felt more than revulsion for Dawson.

“I hope you’re not offended I don’t feel inclined to either believe you or offer you the same courtesy.” Jonathan replies with a sarcastic tilt of his head. He is high on blood. On death. Undead heart singing with adrenaline, not at all the same calm and composed doctor he used to be. Geoffrey can see that clearly and as scary as it is to realise how much Jonathan has changed, he is not about to back down.

“Oh, don’t you know I’m sincere? Don’t you _feel_ it?” Geoffrey challenges him and Jonathan makes a face. He can _feel_ it all right, Geoffrey is tugging at him through their bond. A provocation.

“Creatures of deceit. You said so yourself.” He replies.

As if trying to prove his sincerity, Geoffrey lets go of his weapons, sword and crossbow clattering to the ground as he approaches his Maker with slow steps.

Jonathan can hear the other guards circling the mansion’s entrance, six or seven men, and wonders why they haven’t come in. Why Geoffrey ordered them to wait. But then the hunter is close enough that Jonathan doesn’t think of much other than the tickle on the back of his head, the sudden certainty that Geoffrey knows exactly what he has been through. What he has been going through since his return, how he has been feeling, what he has been thinking about…

“Tell me, how did it feel to murder your own Progeny?” Geoffrey asks almost casually. He is close enough not that Jonathan has to repress a shiver at the intensity of being the sole focus of the hunter’s dark knowing eyes.

“Better than to be killed by it, McCullum.” Jonathan replies with a shrug that makes him feel impertinent. “It’s only survival, you see…”

The hunter lets out a hearty laugh at that. Jonathan frowns.

“Against Dawson?” Geoffrey asks, incredulous. Then it is Jonathan’s turn to let out an amused huff.

“I couldn’t _allow_ him to continue.” He coolly explains, licking his lips in search of any stray droplets of blood. “This should never have happened, hunter. That _bastard_ should have died that night.”

“ _I_ should have died that night.” Geoffrey shoots beck, humourless eyes narrowing as he closes in on his Maker. Jonathan can smell his last cigarette on his breath. Bright blue eyes narrow.

“We’re not talking about the same night, Geoffrey.”

What he wants to say is that as much as he regrets many of his deviations, he does not regret turning Geoffrey, but what he does is brace himself for the punch the hunter aims at his face.

He does not dodge. He _braces_.

He is perfectly aware of the fact that he deserves a punch or two, but he regrets his decision as he force of the hit makes him stumble backwards, blood exploding out of his nose. But all in all, it hurts way more when he hits Geoffrey back, sending the hunter slamming into a table with a well-placed kick to his ribs.

It hurts in a way it hadn’t hurt to _kill_ Dawson, but…

But.

Jonathan does not want to kill Geoffrey McCullum. He just doesn’t.

Geoffrey, on the other hand…

“I’m going to have your fucking head!” He roars as he prepares for a new attack. This time, Jonathan gets the hell out of the way. Geoffrey is after _blood_.

Truth is, though, the hunter intrigues him. Has since the first time they met. So, as Jonathan swipes his leg and jumps on him as he falls, diving in for a taste of his blood, he is thinking of nothing more than incapacitate him. But then his mouth is filled with the sweetest thing he has ever tasted and finds himself thinking of something else entirely.

He holds onto Geoffrey’s struggling form with arms and legs. It’s more physical contact than he has had in a long time and he feels heated from head to toe, the bond they share shining white-hot with spine-melting waves of lust. Jonathan sucks at the weeping would on the hunter’s neck until he is looking for the taste of the man’s skin more than blood. He groans in frustration as Geoffrey throws him to the side.

The only thing keeping Jonathan upright is the wall he connects with. His whole body thrums with the familiar shock of power that comes from drinking from another Ekon, but there’s something else there too. Something new. Desire, sharp and undeniable, twists under his skin. His cock throbs and weeps inside his trousers and he can smell his own arousal. And, if he can, Geoffrey can as well.

Maybe that’s why the hunter’s eyes are as dark and wild as they are. He feels it too, Jonathan realises.

“Hell…” Jonathan manages in astonishment, rubbing his thumb over a stray drop of blood that escaped his mouth and bringing it back to his lips. He takes a step forward and Geoffrey takes one back.

“I’ll be damned…” Geoffrey groans to himself, eyes widening in surprise that does not seem of a bad kind as Jonathan’s mind is assaulted by graphic images of what he wants to do to the hunter.

_Bloody hell_ , Jonathan thinks.

He wants to _fuck_ him.

He jumps, made of flesh and shadow, but Geoffrey evades him with ease, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Once, twice, three times. It is only then that Jonathan realises Geoffrey is not even fighting back. He is just dodging, avoiding him, so the doctor takes a moment to regroup. Takes a deep breath. It is no more than two seconds, but enough for Geoffrey to jump out the window, a leer on his lips and a challenging glint on his dark eyes.

After that, it is _on_.

-x-

Since his turning, Jonathan’s nights had become somewhat unpredictable. He leaves his bed thinking about checking in on somebody and comes back with a body count. Happened more times than he cares keep count.

When he first planned this night, he was just going to take care of Dawson. When his mission turns into running through London after Geoffrey McCullum, he can’t really say this is the worst turn of events he’s ever had. He still remembers, after all, the night he ended up fighting The Morrigan inside the city sewers. That was _not_ fun, but this?

Jonathan has a ferocious grin on his face as he pursues Geoffrey across the West End, barely caring if anyone sees them. His mind is working with one and only one focus: _getting_ the hunter.

They’re in the middle of the market square when Jonathan manages to grab the man’s coat, but a second after the coat is the only thing he has. That and a few bruises on his ribs where Geoffrey kicks him before vanishing into thin air.

Jonathan drops the piece of clothing without much of a thought and dashes towards where he thinks the hunter went, but the man is nowhere to be seen. He grits his teeth, then, looking around himself in a daze of lust and frustration.

“Hey!” Jonathan calls out at a young couple walking together across the street. “Have you seen a guard? Priwen?”

The woman shoots the man a startled look as the guy pulls her closer to him.

“We… what?”

“A guard. Have you seen one? He came this way.” Jonathan explains. He is aware of what he looks like: bloodied, crazed-looking with pupils blown into two black holes. But he can also feel Geoffrey mocking him through the bond. He is gloriously joyful and Jonathan wants nothing but to put his mouth on him again.

That’s when he hears a whistle from behind him. He whips his head around so fast he would have pulled a muscle were he human.

“Never mind…” Jonathan mutters to the couple as he spots _him_.

On a balcony nearby, sitting on the balustrade like he is one of those playful elves from children’s books. Geoffrey smirks at Jonathan in a way that eclipses even the startled gasps of the couple as Jonathan jumps through the shadows to reach the hunter.

“You’re too easy, Reid…” Geoffrey teases him. He is the one to get closer to Jonathan this time, slamming his Maker against the nearby wall as soon as Jonathan’s feet touch the cement of the balcony.

Jonathan can barely react other than to arch against the hunter, starving for the weight of his body.

“Call me Jonathan…” The doctor asks in an almost pleading tone, part of him longing for more intimacy, but a bigger part very interested in hearing his name from Geoffrey’s lips in that breathless, husky tone of his.

Geoffrey leans in, then, breath tickling Jonathan’s face, and says:

“I’ll make you a deal…” Jonathan reaches out, grabbing Geoffrey by the waist, but the man is escaping him, evading his grasping hands, adding, “You catch me, and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

And then he’s gone again and Jonathan feels at once painfully frustrated and thrilled by the idea of chasing him. Hunting the hunter.

Now, isn’t that an interesting game?

He can hear Geoffrey’s boots on the street just around the corner and promptly jumps down and takes off running after him. He feels once again like a kid, playing tag, but his goal is so much more than just _catching_ the hunter.

He wants to _devour_ him.

Jonathan catches up to him beside a flower stall next, sweet smell mingling with their sweat in a way that makes Jonathan’s head spin. He presses the hunter against the shop window and holds both his wrists in a tight grip, leaning in.

“Got you.” He says against the man’s lips. Geoffrey smiles, puffs of air tingling against Jonathan’s open mouth.

“So it seems…” Geoffrey rasps out, relaxing in Jonathan’s hold in a way that is deceivingly pliant. Jonathan tightens his grasp and Geoffrey’s smile widens. He raises an eyebrow and adds, “… Jonathan.”

Jonathan groans deep inside his chest. His name never felt this dirty, but Geoffrey says it like it’s something to be said in whispers, into the dark night, far from other people’s ears, and before he can regret giving into the impulse, Jonathan presses an open-mouthed, messy kiss to the hunter’s lips.

Geoffrey gasps in surprise, but responds enthusiastically, opening up to receive Jonathan’s eager tongue and sucking on it with a delighted moan. He tries to pull his wrists free, but Jonathan presses them harder against the glass and fits a thigh between the hunter’s legs just to feel where he is just as hard as his Maker is.

Geoffrey ruts against him shamelessly and Jonathan rewards the man’s surprising eagerness by pressing in closer and moving against him as they pant into the kiss.

Jonathan eventually lets go of Geoffrey’s hands, however, anxious as he is to feel all the lines of his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. Jonathan realises his mistake a second later when he is laying on his back on the cold stone, his forehead pounding where the hunter head-butted him and Geoffrey’s laughter echoing through the street.

He is getting off on being chased just as much as Jonathan is on chasing him, it seems.

As Jonathan stands up and tries to straighten his clothes, a small group of elderly citizens glares at him from across the street. He can’t really blame them. He is not a usual sight on the streets of London, unconventional as they sometimes tend to be. He is about to go after where Geoffrey’s voice disappeared when he realises the damn hunter stole his tie.

-x-

Jonathan tears Geoffrey’s shirt off the next time he catches him, halfway into Whitechapel. If anyone sees the way he throws the hunter on the ground and climbs on top of him to put his mouth all over the man’s hairy chest, he is in no shape of noticing or caring about it. Geoffrey pulls his hair when he bites onto a small nipple, holding on more than trying to pull him away, and Jonathan can feel the way the caress makes the hunter throb with desire. He can feel against the palm of his hand, shoved between their bodies, and through the bond they share, this humming on the back of his head that turns into an almost purr as Jonathan sucks the tight flesh of Geoffrey’s nipple into his mouth.

Jonathan is distracted enough by everything that it is easy for Geoffrey to reverse their positions. Jonathan hears the buttons of his shirt and waist coat being ripped next, flying and clattering against the cobblestone around them, but then Geoffrey’s mouth is on his own chest as if repaying the attention he received earlier and Jonathan does not mind. He can get new buttons. New clothes.

“Fuck, you taste good…” Geoffrey comments in disbelief as he licks and sucks Jonathan’s skin. He is not nearly as gentle as Jonathan was, though, and when he bites down on the firm muscle of a pectoral, he’s going for blood.

Jonathan can do nothing more than spread his legs as the hunter thrusts against him and drinks long and hard. He has been attacked before. Has been bitten. It never felt quite like this. This throbbing need that knows no limits spreading throughout his body.

“Fuck… Geoffrey…” Jonathan says, pleading he does not knows what for and arching against the hunter. Geoffrey lets go of Jonathan’s nipple with a low-rumbling chuckle, slithering up the doctor’s body to kiss him with bloodstained lips.

Jonathan has barely had a taste and Geoffrey is withdrawing back again, standing up. Before he takes off running again, however, Jonathan hears his belt unbuckle, leather sliding through the loops. Hungry and hungrier by the second, Jonathan stares at him. He looks glorious, muscled body shining pale under the moonlight, cock bulging inside his trousers and his lips kissed raw red.

Jonathan reaches down to press the heel of his palm against his own erection. He can feel the wetness inside his clothes and has to close his eyes for a second. That’s why he misses the way Geoffrey’s eyes follow his movement, lips parting, breath caught in his throat.

When Jonathan opens his eyes, the hunter is gone again, but at least this time there is no one around to see the way Jonathan’s bloodlust has completely turned to good old-fashioned lust.

-x-

Jonathan discovers what Geoffrey’s goal with his belt is when he is hit across the arse with it. It stings but in a way that makes him want to punish Geoffrey for being such a brat rather than actually hurting. Geoffrey manages to hit him twice more, both times across the back of his thighs, but the fourth time he comes for it, Jonathan is ready. He grabs the belt and yanks the hunter closer.

“Do I have to fucking tie you up, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey positively grins at the frustration on Jonathan’s smooth voice.

“You can certainly try.” Geoffrey replies, letting go of the belt to grab Jonathan’s face with both hands and kiss him.

Jonathan lets out a small surprised sound, melting into the heat of the kiss as he tries to, simultaneously, get out of his own clothes. His movements are stuttered, desperate, but, seeing as he has no buttons left, it is quite an easy feat. He might need a new coat, though, and _that_ is a shame. He really liked this one. But as Geoffrey’s hands start running all over his naked back, Jonathan stops caring.

Geoffrey’s touch unleashes something savage inside Jonathan and soon the doctor is wrestling Geoffrey down to the floor of the alleyway they find themselves in. Geoffrey seems to be having fun offering resistance and making Jonathan’s life harder; only when he is on his stomach, pinned, and Jonathan, half out of his mind, is dragging his trousers down is that he relents.

Jonathan does not really have a plan, here, but the sight of the man’s pale buttocks has his mouth watering and before he can think too hard about it, he has his face shoved against the man’s arse, fangs throbbing as they sink into firm flesh.

“Goddamn it, Jonathan…” Geoffrey grunts, but does not try to get away. On the contrary, he arches his back as his skin pebbles up, body wrecked by shivers.

Jonathan laps at the blood with low, hungry moans. He almost sounds like he is hurting, but Geoffrey knows he’s not. He can _feel_ it.

Blood trickles down from the wound and Jonathan follows it until he is lapping at Geoffrey’s perineum, at the heavy set of his balls before coming back up to press against the furled skin of his hole.

“You’re going to kill me…” Geoffrey warns him and Jonathan lets out a low chuckle, pressing harder, prodding, twisting his tongue just right to make the hunter’s legs shake under his own weight.

“I’m going to _fuck_ you…” Jonathan corrects him, pressing a thumb alongside his tongue. He breaches Geoffrey, who lets out the most deliciously broken sob. Jonathan keeps it up for a few minutes and Geoffrey must be just as crazed by lust as he is, Jonathan thinks, because as he leans back to gaze at the hunter’s quivering form, spread open for him, the hunter does not dare move.

Jonathan spits in his palm and slicks himself up, thinking only of how good it will feel to have Geoffrey like this. His Progeny. _His_.

As soon as he moves to line himself up, however, Geoffrey moves out from underneath him in one fluid movement, slick as a snake. Jonathan hisses in frustration, tightening fingers around his own cock, and is about to stand up to continue the chase, but then he is suddenly blinking up at the sky with a confused frown, naked back against the dirty cobblestone.

Next thing he knows, Geoffrey’s mouth is wrapped around his cock and Jonathan is pretty sure _this_ is how he wants to die. With Geoffrey’s slick tongue moving up and down his erection, pressing against his glans before taking him in as far as he can. When Jonathan touches Geoffrey’s head just to feel his bobbing movements, the hunter makes a wounded little noise and pulls away, leaving Jonathan wet, throbbing, and completely alone in the alleyway.

-x-

Geoffrey’s remaining clothes are the only thing left behind. Jonathan for a moment indulges the mental image of the hunter running around London completely naked, cock hard and face flushed with arousal. He can’t have gone very far, Jonathan thinks as he kicks his own remaining clothes off.

The least he can do is, after all, level the playing field.

The cold night air feels electric across his skin. His entire education revolved around nudity being either indecent or just an aspect of work, his sexuality something to be kept between the walls of his bedroom, behind closed doors, quiet and late at night.

Now, however, he feels _magnificent_.

Jonathan closes his eyes, trying to grasp at the ever-flowing river of emotions that tie him to Geoffrey.

His Progeny is not far, he realises, preparing to jump.

And he is waiting for his Maker.

When Jonathan gets to the rooftop garden where the hunter is, he has to take a moment to admire the view that greets him. Behind Geoffrey’s back, London sleeps completely oblivious to the hunter leaning back against a dusty bistro table, muscled body bathed in moonlight as he slowly strokes the gorgeous extension of his cock.

Jonathan then does the only thing one can do when facing a vision this sublime: he kneels and promptly buries his nose against the soft tickle of Geoffrey’s pubes, inhaling the sharp, dark scent of him. Geoffrey groans in appreciation, bringing a big hand to the back of Jonathan’s head.

Jonathan feels dizzy on the smell alone, but then he looks up. Geoffrey’s eyes are dark and so intense it is almost scary. The hunter reaches down, angling his cock towards Jonathan’s open mouth, and Jonathan lets out a wanton moan as he slides against his tongue. Smell and taste explode all around him, earth-shattering in their intensity.

As he swallows Geoffrey down, Jonathan trails hands up the hunter’s legs, feeling the tickle of wiry hair covering his skin until his fingers find and prod at the man’s still wet hole. Jonathan spreads the hunter’s cheeks as he penetrates him with one, two and then three fingers, never stopping licking and sucking at his hardened flesh.

By the time Jonathan has him bucking into his mouth and bouncing back on his fingers, leaking wetness onto his tongue, Geoffrey is on the brink of orgasm.

Jonathan’s mouth feels raw and used when he stands up on wobbly legs. Geoffrey helps him up, drags him closer into a kiss that rapidly deepens. The younger Ekon melts against his Maker, making it easy for Jonathan to grab him behind his thighs and lift him up. Geoffrey lets out a surprised exclamation, but promptly wraps arms and legs around the other.

“Breathe, Geoffrey…” Jonathan softly says as he lines himself up. As he presses in, Geoffrey’s body parts for him like warm butter under a knife and Jonathan bites his own lips. “God…”

“Don’t stop…” Geoffrey pleads as Jonathan tries to give him time to adjust; he tightens his legs around Jonathan’s hips, forcing him in until he is buried to the hilt.

Now Jonathan would not be able to stop if he had to. He is surrounded by Geoffrey’s taste and smell, his cock a hard line between their stomachs as Jonathan pulls closer and thrusts with abandon. The doctor eventually softens his movements, turning them slow and easy, and Geoffrey takes the chance to push at his chest until he lays back on the cold floor tiles.

This time, Jonathan is not worried about Geoffrey running away. There does not seem to be much on the hunter’s mind other than getting his pleasure and Jonathan holds his breath as he slowly climbs on top of him. Geoffrey moves with such certainty and deliberation it almost feels like they’ve done this a thousand times before. His fingers are perfectly tight when he holds Jonathan’s cock and sinks down onto it with a hissing inhale, lips parting in a silent moan.

Jonathan can’t tear his eyes away from the lascivious view of Geoffrey’s thighs spread open, flushed cock bobbing as he moves, strong muscles tightening and relaxing.

“Touch me…” Geoffrey asks through hooded eyes and Jonathan immediately complies, fingers wrapping loosely around the hunter’s cock. “Fuck… _fuck_ , Jonathan.”

Jonathan would echo the sentiment, were he able to find his words. As it is, he can only let himself be used, thrusting shallowly while trying to last long enough to see Geoffrey come undone. He might just manage it, he thinks, considering the way Geoffrey’s cock throbs and leaks a constant stream of precome against his palm. Geoffrey throws his head back, moaning at the sky, and it’s Jonathan’s turn to push him to the side, rearranging their limbs until he has Geoffrey on all fours.

After Jonathan slides back in with a pained grunt, Geoffrey does not stay down for long. The hunter gets up on his knees, angling his head back for a kiss as Jonathan thrusts turn wild, fast and hard. Jonathan kisses him back, but can’t keep it up for long with the way Geoffrey’s muscles are pulling him in.

Jonathan fits his mouth against the man’s shoulder to muffle his own sounds of pleasure, pressing down until his teeth break skin. Geoffrey hisses as Jonathan drinks.

Geoffrey’s lips are parted, waiting for a kiss when Jonathan leans in to offer him a taste of his own blood. Their lips connect softly and Jonathan moans as his orgasm is ripped from him in long, stuttering waves that seem to go on and on. He buries himself inside the hunter’s tight arse, spending himself with a roar, hips pumping wildly.

He is still a little out of it when Geoffrey carefully pushes him to the side and slides between his legs, pushing his wet cock inside him with one long and slow thrust. He’s _close_. Jonathan can feel it all around, pulsing through their bond, inside his body, through Geoffrey’s broken gasps and groans.

Geoffrey starts thrusting in earnest, then, twisting his hips into Jonathan and still kissing his Maker like it’s the only chance he’ll have, and Jonathan can’t help but hold onto him, kissing back and spreading his long legs. It feels good to have Geoffrey like this, to open his body to him this way, tongues pressed together and throats torn by sobs, moans, sighs.

Geoffrey is not a silent lover at all, but he goes dangerously quiet when he comes, breaking the kiss to bury his face into Jonathan’s neck as he pours wave after wave of his orgasm inside the other man. Jonathan can _feel_ it. Every spurt. It is quite strange, but it makes him feel calm. Sated.

“Still wanna kill me?” Jonathan asks after a while. Geoffrey snorts, nuzzling against the side his neck.

“I might try again soon.” The hunter punctuates his response with a slow thrust, still hard and throbbing inside Jonathan as though he didn’t just come. Jonathan is pretty sure he is not really talking about _killing_. “ _Very_ soon.”

Jonathan moans lowly in delight, a little taken aback, but not nearly as afraid as he should be.

**Author's Note:**

> so, yeah...  
> *blushes*
> 
> you can find me all over the internet as CALMAJUH (twitter / instagram)  
> hope to hear from you soon¹ <3


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